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My so called life

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It was daylights saving time today, so the clocks went back over Saturday night giving me an extra hour of weekend living, yay. I had all but forgotten until my friend called me at around 11pm to remind me of this cosmic anomaly. Slurring my words to him grumpily, I reminded him of the time and my loserly club card's lifetime membership, citing that the nightlife is for the hip crowd. I wasn't asleep or even tired, I was just pissed off that the horror flick that I started (Mr. Jones) had been developing so....shittily. Anticlimactic after a confused main plot with a novice cast and independent producer, my Saturday night didn't quite live up to last weekends thrill when I shrieked from beneath my covers whilst watching the Lazarus film.

As it happens, I used my extra hour to sleep, watch a film or to daydream depending on where you would like to allocate this welcomed abomination that sees us live through an extra hour of beautiful dark during our cosy winter months. I'm currently standing in the kitchen writing this as I sip tea. Leaning my back on the kitchen units with one foot up against it; something my brother infamously outed when asking "Why are you standing like a prostitute...for?" when I adopted this suggestive stance as a child while we played on the streets one summer's evening. It makes me laugh because he couldn't have been older then 13 himself at the time.

So I'm drinking tea, wondering if I should abuse my body with a pizza from a little shop on the high street which to be polite, has questionable hygiene. I could order Dominos but they don't deliver, and I don't quite fancy the adventure there and back. I think I'm agoraphobic. Again, I've managed to bloviate about absolutely nothing over 3 paragraphs. Heaven knows what I'll be putting you lovely folk through when I have something meaningful to say. I bet you wish they had a dislike feature now huh? You fickle mofos <3

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My sisters smokes FAGS XDDDD I am dying... That is so funny.

I am sure everyone is afraid of putting themselves out there though. Do you like your job at least? Any hobbies? I paint a lot in my free time.

I wish I could paint. People swear by it's calming effect, so it must be therapeutic. I would probably create something disastrous, not worth the canvas it was messily conceived on. I don't really have a hobby, unless watching films counts in that case hell yes. My job is fulfilling at times because I get to express myself, but for the most part I'd rather be at home in bed. I'll expand on this at some point :)

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Bonnet lol. This is making me laugh because I had no idea that these terms weren't universal. I'm currently looking in the mirror and repeating them loud and slow. You guys will love this....ready? .... We call cigarettes....FAGS. Lol!

you call french fries "faggots", i believe. bloody hell. :D

petrol for gasoline. what language is this, lol?

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I went to an American diner today with my friend after work. I hadn't seen him in a few weeks, and we decided to catch up over a late dinner. Our friendship constitutes a "face to face" paradigm and not the typical "side by side" agreement so as usual, most of our time was spent talking at length in his car before and after our meal. Once we got inside I was taken back to see the man serving us was a notorious tough guy that was in my year at school. This wasn't just a bully, he was famously regarded as the "hardest guy in the year" & I witnessed this him make ordinary alphas look like cowards including many that were upto two years his senior.

" Yes sir" ... he said to me when I told him how I wanted my sirloin burger prepared. It was a strange feeling, I nearly felt bad for him but almost 15 years on he's still a scary looking dude. I sat down and every now & then we exchanged glances. I explained this man's notoriety to my friend over chilli fries & burgers but conceded that he wouldn't recognise a relative nobody in the prison zoo I called school.

Much to my surprise he recognised me, calling me by my name when we went to pay. The second person serving looked younger and impressionable, and he asked me if it was true that his acquaintance was indeed feared at school. Standing a foot away from him, I couldn't help but feel jumpy at the thought of potential punches coming my way, and it was my absolute pleasure to flatter that he gave everyone in his life nightmares. I could sense he was relieved that I was so complenentitve of him, and we exchanged stories and talked about the adolescent hell like they were the "good old days".

My standout memory of him was when our teacher left the woodwork class one afternoon in year 11 leaving us to our own resources. Baring in mind that at least half of these students were bullies themselves, my "friend" here walked around using everyone in the class as his personal punch bag, and not one guy stood up to him. From one person to the next, his shots were skillfully delivered to the arms and torso of his victims and I cringed at the sickening sound of his big dense knuckles thudding into their meat. For some reason, he had missed out 2 guys in that class and I was one of them. He just nodded at me, and went on to beat on the guy sat next to me who was a prick anyway and deserved to get his head caved in. We shook hands after I paid, listening to a final story of how he at least ensured weapons were outlawed in the playground code by beating anyone known to carry them senseless. Come to think of it, I only ever got a knife pulled on me once so I suppose he had a point.

He also "allowed" me to wear the latest Nike sneakers that my dad brought me to school on non-uniform days which was generous, considering he donned the exact same pair and it was customary for a fight to take place to decide who inherited the sole rights to wear those bad boys. He literally squeezed my shoulder and mumbled "it's alright" before meeting his cronies for lunch. Good guy, good guy.

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